


First Time for Everything

by Dork5ever612



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, I was high when I wrote this so, M/M, Marijuana, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 14:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17899991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dork5ever612/pseuds/Dork5ever612
Summary: The aftermath of Allen's first time smoking weed, a sequel/sister piece for Shades in Smoke





	First Time for Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shades in Smoke](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874968) by [TheDeadAreWalking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeadAreWalking/pseuds/TheDeadAreWalking). 



   
Their first kiss, and he wasn't even sober. Not to say he had _expected_ to be sober— he just thought it would be due to an exorbitant amount of alcohol, and not a single joint shared between their lips. They had finished off and discarded the second a long while ago, and he was just now beginning to _really_ feel the effects.  
   
All at once it hit him and he had pushed the captain into a reclining position on the pillows and the headboard, resting his head on Michael's chest with an uninhibited chuckle. His head felt unusually light, and he just wanted to lie down as the feeling grew.  
   
“You doing alright there, Doc?”  
   
Allen made a noncommittal noise in response, shrugging sleepily.  
   
“Tired.” He smiled, but the action didn't feel like his own. It was like he couldn't stop, or someone was pulling his cheeks into a grin. He couldn't stop laughing, but he really wanted to. He didn't want Michael to see how fucked up he was, hiding his face in the pilot's t-shirt.  
   
“You sure you're ok, Babe? If its too much I can—”  
   
“I'm fine! I'm just… Give me a sec.” He muttered, shoulders shaking with a silent laugh. His body kept twitching and he began to get paranoid, feeling like a stranger in his own body. His head felt fuzzy and light and he just sat still, too dazed to do much of anything.  
   
 _So this is what high feels like._  
   
Michael carefully pried the sluggish professor off of him, helping him get in a comfortable position on the cheap hotel bed.  
   
“Ok, I think you need some rest. I'm gonna go get you something to snack on from one of the vending machines, so just lay down and I'll be back. Ok?”  
   
Hynek pouted, looking up at the captain with squinty, dilated eyes, one hand lazily grabbing his wrist. He couldn't decide what to say, and his mouth floundered for words for a second before he forced himself to speak.  
   
“I don't wanna be alone.”  
   
“Trust me, you need to get some food in your system. There's a vending machine just outside, I'll be back in a split.”  
   
Allen pleaded with the man wordlessly, eventually getting him to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.  
   
“You can come with if you feel up to it, but I'm getting you that snack whether you want me to or not.”  
   
After a moment of consideration, the doctor let his hand fall limply back on the bed. He couldn't even properly _speak_ , what made him think he would be able to walk out of the hotel room without looking stoned off his ass?  
   
“Ok, I'll stay…”  
   
“Good. Anything you want in particular?”  
   
“Uhh… a couple Milky Ways and a soda? Whatever they have I guess.”  
   
“Alright, I've got a few snacks in my bag, just in case: some pretzels, a small box or two of cereal, a bag of chips— just grab some if you need any. I'll be right outside.”  
   
Allen stayed on his side, watching Michael leave blankly, mouth dry. He just lied there, as still as possible. His limbs felt numb and heavy, and he felt like a ghost possessing his own body. Like he wasn't really himself.  
   
He needed to do something, _anything_ to relieve the tension. He felt like he needed to ask Michael for help but he was worried he was just overreacting, so he did nothing instead. He just stared at the door, mouth full of cotton and feeling like he was in a dream.  
   
It was like he was only somewhat conscious, or he was sitting in the very backseat of his mind as he tried his best to act normal and failed miserably. Eventually he cycled back around and began smiling again, laughing at how _strange_ it felt.  
   
By the time the captain came back he had gotten himself up, digging through his bag for the candies he carried around— something to ground him to reality.  
   
“Hey, you doing ok?”  
   
“I have _no idea_.” He responded slowly, trying to put the experience into words. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the side of the bed and sucking thoughtfully on one of his sweets. “I feel like I'm… not real? Like this is just a weird dream… Is that normal?”  
   
“Yeaaahh, you're pretty stoned.” Michael laughed, pulling a few small packages out of his bag. “I've got some pretzels, grabbed you a few Milky Ways and a coke, and a bottle of water. Now, you don't need to take all of them, but I'd really like for you to at least have the pretzels and water.”  
   
Allen nodded as the pilot sat beside him, handing him the snacks and drinks with an unrestrained smirk. He groaned slightly, leaning on his shoulder blearily, words muffled by the candy in his mouth as he hazily opened the bag.  
   
“Thanks… 'm tired…”  
   
“You can get some rest once you get something to eat.”  
   
Suddenly a thought clicked into place, the doctor's brows furrowing as he looked up at Quinn.  
   
“Wait… did you call me 'Babe’ earlier?” The captain's face flushed, smiling nervously and looking away as he took a swig of his cola.  
   
“Well, you're the one that kissed me. I guess that makes us even.”  
   
Allen smiled, guiding Michael's head back towards him and pressing another kiss to his lips. They still tasted like pot.  
   
“I guess it does.”  
   
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, leaning into each other and sharing their snacks until Allen began to drift off, eyelids too heavy to ignore any longer. He vaguely registered the feeling of being picked up and set on the bed, curling up against the warm body that settled in beside him.  
   
Michael's hand combed through his messy hair, arms curling comfortably around his limp form. He pressed himself closer into the pilot, his brain lazily registering the scent of cologne, cigarette smoke, and jet fuel, interlaced with something indescribable and unique, and a faint smell of marijuana.  
   
He fell asleep with a smile on his lips, curled up with his captain under the cheap sheets of a hospital bed. If getting high meant spending a night like this, maybe he should try it more often.


End file.
